The Whispers Of Time

What does time whisper, youth gay and light,
While thinning thy locks, silken and bright,
While paling thy soft cheek’s roseate dye,
Dimming the light of thy flashing eye,
Stealing thy bloom and freshness away—
Is he not hinting at death—decay?

Man, in the wane of thy stately prime,
Hear’st thou the silent warnings of Time?
Look at thy brow ploughed by anxious care,
The silver hue of thy once dark hair;—
What boot thine honors, thy treasures bright,
When Time tells of coming gloom and night?

O! what a weary world were ours
With that thought to cloud our brightest hours,
Did we not know that beyond the skies
A land of beauty and promise ties,
Where peaceful and blessed we will love—adore—
When Time itself shall be no more!